


you take a heart, i can take out you

by orphan_account



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Stripper/Exotic Dancer, Drug Use, F/F, cos is just background noise, soccer punk, soccerpunk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-20
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-13 19:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2162718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Alison wants to touch and maybe she buys a private dance and maybe she leaves her number in the room, still a little high and breathless, pink lipgloss smeared over the digits she's written on the back of her grocery receipt."</p><p>Wherein Sarah is an exotic dancer.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you take a heart, i can take out you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jessewrites](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessewrites/gifts).



The girl is moving like water on the stage, dreads bouncing and shaking with vibrance, wavering beat in the back providing a current. She's beautiful, but to Alison she is too much chaos, too many waving limbs and fanged smiles, so she closes her eyes and lets the beat do to the drugs swimming through her veins what it's doing to the girl swimming onstage (not drowning, not either of them. This is a very important distinction).

But she applauds because you always should for a fellow performer and she gives her a nice tip when she starts swaying by the tables. By this time she thinks the drugs have hit her heart (you are too lyrical, alison, too much, her mother whispers cold in her mind) because the next performer is on stage and now her pulse is thudding with the new music, something electronic with guitars and sex and she can't breathe anymore.

The other girl must notice, because she brings out the fangs again and leans into Alison, whispering "Yeah, I know. I used to hit that. She does private dances if you're interested and have the money, and I don't think she'll turn you down."

And with that, she flounced off in her lacy black- coverings, leaving Alison still reeling as she returned her full, albeit distorted concentration to the stage.

The girl's stage name is Punk Rock Ho. She sways with the grace of the girl before (Blinded By Science, her bit had glasses, but that didn't matter because of what came after), but less flow and more anger, anger rushing in waves, anger that spoke to Alison and coiled deep in her belly where the drugs hadn't hit her (they never worked where it mattered). She is all flashing gold eyes and twitchy movements that come together in a jagged sort of harmony, all broken pattern but a rhythm nonetheless. 

Alison wants to touch and maybe she buys a private dance and maybe she leaves her number in the room, still a little high and breathless, pink lipgloss smeared over the digits she's written on the back of her grocery receipt. But at this point the chemicals are wearing off and she is still drunk on the growling voice in her ear, the way she took off her clothes slow and careless. Her hands are long and rough, coming together behind Alison's neck, fingernails scraping her skin. She grinds slow and hard, Alison's dress riding up to the tops of her thighs as this woman presses down and artfully flutters sticky black eyelashes into what becomes a silent moan on her part and a very loud one on Alison's. The eyelashes cease their convulsing and the woman on top of her for the first time actually looks at the almost certainly high and very much aroused woman beneath her.

They're not supposed to kiss the clientele but Cos had got her some of her stash and she felt a sense of solidarity with this woman and the way her teeth are digging into the skin of her lip, white on garish pink, same as the flush in her cheeks as her stomach jumps, fast and shallow. So she moves in, tries to scrape the pink off of Alison's lips with her teeth, tries to make her take back her moan with her tongue. It doesn't work but Alison is responding, hands moving up to scrape at the dancer's back as the other woman's hands separate and tangle upwards into Alison's hair.

It goes on for a bit until the woman realizes that sometime security might check in on her and then she's out of a job and back into a considerably lower income. So she separates herself from the kiss (surprisingly hard on Alison's end, surprisingly tired of the way it's been taught and kissed, never as feral as this, never as strong) and pulls away baring teeth in what passes for a wicked smile.

Alison's still a bit surprised when she gets a call at 7 am.

"Alison Hendrix, yeah? You know I could steal your identity with the receipt you gave me?"

"Really? I- uh-" The brusque voice on the other end cuts her off, all cockney urgency.

"Look, I just got off my shift, you look a bit desperate and a bit into making bad decisions and it turns out that right now that's my type. So I won't steal your identity if you meet me at Fung's in 30 minutes."

And with that, the phone clicked. Allison needed to find better underwear and exactly what a Fung's was.

Alison finds out that Fung's is a seedy diner in a section of the city that's a bit more... urban than she's used to, but they serve really great coffee. She orders hers black, because she's already nursing a bit of a hangover and because this mystery girl seems like she'll be the type that requires it. The coffee has barely cooled by the time that the other girl slides into the opposite booth. She looks a little rough, but it's working for her. Black jacket with a hood, rumpled band shirt, wild hair, eye makeup smudged. She looks like she just walked away from making out with someone to come make out with Alison, and it's fucking hot.

"Sarah. You never got my name."

"Well, I kind of figured it wasn't actually Punk Rock Ho."

"That came from an ex. But I don't really care and I don't think you do either, so let's get to the point. You're obviously married, I'm guessing straight as a fucking arrow unless you're hammered, and pretty fucked up. I've been on the shit you took last night and it's not pretty. But I need a lay and your husband's obviously not up to snuff, so how far are you willing to go?"

Well, she's direct. And gorgeous. Alison swallowed hard, the fading high sticking in her throat. If she was sober, she'd pack up and leave right now. But she wasn't, and those hazel eyes across from her looked like they were flashing gold under the lights of the diner, and Alison still remembered the pressure of Sarah on top of her.

"As far as you want to."

Her grin from last night reappears and she slides out of the booth, hair fluttering slightly in the air conditioning and glowing around the edges from the lights. She's an angel, says the part of Alison that's still high; the other bits are wary of this statement. She follows and catches the wink Sarah gives the waitress, a bleached blonde with tattoos and black lipstick whose nameplate reads Bobbi.

Sarah's place is about a block away, exposed brick and metal catcalling each other with neon graffiti across the streets. The inside of the loft is much of the same, and Sarah explains it's a friends before she gets Alison against to the bedroom and shuts herself up against Alison's mouth, breath like mints and fireball against the stickysoursweet of Alison. Sarah strips quickly, efficiently, shaking off the last remains of work and then slows down to strip Alison, crouching and taking her dress in her fists and rising and pulling it up, pulling away the last remains of Alison's life as she tugs it over her head. Her bangs are askew and Sarah grabs onto them and bites hard at the juncture between Alison's neck and shoulder, almost-but-not-quite-enough to make her bleed, more than enough to draw a long low whine out of her, eyes closed and hips arched up into Sarah.

Sarah's fingers and tongue are magic and Alison is left shaking by the end, floating a little bit out of her body still. Floating, not drowning. This is an important distinction. And as she disentangles her heels from Sarah's back and flips them over, she tries to make Sarah understand that. She flicks her tongue around Sarah's nipple, Sarah's clit and soon she is shuddering too, and she is still only for a brief moment when she comes. And now they are both too tired to move so they lay there, strangers floating together, panting for breath, eyes closed and trusting for once. Not drowning. Not drowning.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanna wanna hang a name on you  
> I wanna wanna hang a name on you  
> I wanna know what's good for you  
> I wanna know what's good for you
> 
> -"Run the Heart," Sleigh Bells


End file.
